


How About A Little Wager

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cake, M/M, Murder Husbands, Will Knows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 23:02:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3428753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carrying on in the tradition of my fics -- "Hannibal gives will a bath and Will is a sassy little muffin about it," "Hannibal seduces Will and Will is a sassy little muffin about it," etc -- in this fic, Hannibal bakes a cake, and Will is a sassy little muffin about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How About A Little Wager

The musty attic-odor was something Hannibal had been dealing with the last few days, as Will moved his belongings – including several boxes that had not been opened in decades – into Hannibal's house. Lately the odor had been mixing with the more familiar scents which tended to cling to Will, dogs and fish and motor oil. 

The smell now preceded him, and the box he was carrying, into the kitchen. “Why’s it cold in here?” he asked. “Aren’t you baking?” 

“I adjusted the air conditioning,” Hannibal explained. “The icing I am going to use is finicky. Too cold and it solidifies, but too warm and it melts and loses its shape.” 

Will set the box down, clearly ready to talk about what was in it, but he paused briefly to watch what Hannibal was doing. He had a bowl under a mixer, and appeared to be making meringue: the mixture was thick and glossy, and became fluffier as the mixer continued to run. Will looked to the side counter, where four layers of cake stood unassembled next to a rotating stand, and then back at the bowl. He had only ever seen meringue used as a topping for pies, never for cakes. 

The mixer was, as the advertisements were fond of saying, whisper-quiet, and Hannibal looked up at Will briefly, giving him the cue to proceed with whatever he was about to say. 

“Ah, so yeah,” Will said, returning to the box and forgetting about the cake. “This box is full of amazing stuff. Well, amazing to me. I guess it won’t mean anything to you.” 

Hannibal was now adding bits of cubed butter, a few at a time, to the meringue, but he tilted his chin in the direction of the box and said politely, “Let’s see.” 

“It's all stuff from my childhood.” Will unfolded the flaps of the box, flinging even more of that unpleasant odor into the air. “I left it with my grandparents when I went to work for the New Orleans PD. It wasn't until I moved to Wolf Trap that I had a place for it, but even then, I was in a hurry, I didn't have time to see what all was in here.” 

He chucked a little as he pulled the first item from the box: a Matchbox car. He set it on the stainless-steel counter, pulled it backwards along the surface, then let it go. It whizzed along the counter; Will held out his hand at the corner to catch the car as it rolled over the edge. “I loved these things when I was a kid. I had a few of those plastic lengths of track, to run them on. I don't know where I got them from, or what happened to them.” 

Meanwhile, Hannibal was squeezing the tiniest drop of red food coloring into the mix, tinting the icing a delicate shade of pink. Then he placed the cake-stand in front of him on the island, with the first layer sitting atop. With an icing spatula, he applied a thin layer of the buttercream icing to the top of the cake, then placed the second layer on the first, and repeated the process with the second and third layer. The fourth layer sat forlorn on the side counter as Hannibal proceeded to spread the icing around the entire outside of the cake. 

Will thought that this decoration seemed awfully utilitarian, considering the _pâtissier_ in question, but Hannibal was not nearly finished. “Please, go on,” he said. “What else is in the box?” 

When Will reached in again, he came up with a deck of cards. “Oh, wow. I had completely forgotten about these.” He pressed his thumb against the tab that held it securely shut, opening the box to let the cards slide into his other hand. On each card was a photographic image of a white sandy beach, a palm tree, and a frothy white wave cresting on the turquoise Caribbean sea. Underneath, in a plain mid-century font, were the words _U.S. Virgin Islands_. 

With the ease that skill and repetition brings, Hannibal took up a wooden spoon and scooped the remaining icing out of the bowl and onto a sheet of cling-wrap. He bundled up the wrap, twisting one end and then cutting it with scissors. He placed it into a piping bag, with the cut-open end facing towards the thin plastic tip. Using this technique, he could squeeze the icing through the piping bag and onto the cake with a minimum of mess. 

Will could not see what was going on at first; Hannibal was focusing on the side of the cake nearest to himself, working with a short back-and-forth motion, moving higher, until he reached the top of the cake. Then he started at the bottom again. As he completed these columns, he rotated the cake on the stand, until eventually Will could see his handiwork: several dozen painstaking columns, like tightly-ruffled ribbons. 

While Hannibal labored at his task, Will explained about the cards. “When I was a kid, there was one place we lived longer than any other, the only place where me and my dad ever really got settled. It was in Louisiana. I was maybe seven, eight at the time. There was a junk drawer by the sink in the kitchen. The big scissors were in there, and so I went into it all the time. But just about everything else that was in there, its purpose was a mystery to me. Screws and nails, car parts maybe, grubby twine wrapped around a dowel. 

“But there were also two decks of cards in there. This was one of them. The other ones had naked women on them. I knew those were dirty, but these...they were in the drawer with the other deck, and these ones had the word 'virgin' on them, and I didn't know exactly what that word meant, but some kid had gotten in trouble at school for saying it, so I had figured it for a bad word. 

“Anyway, I was too afraid of getting caught to look at the ones with the naked women after the one time I saw them, but I used to open up these cards all the time, and look at them, and somehow _know_ , in my childish brain, that they were dirty...but I just couldn't figure out how, exactly. Because I mean, it's just this picture of a tropical paradise.” 

“Even then you were attempting leaps of knowledge using the cryptic remnants someone else left behind.” 

Will snorted at this. “Sure, I guess so.” He looked at the cake, nearly finished now, and said, “Oh, this is for that birthday party, isn’t it? Does that mean that’s tonight? I totally forgot.” 

“It is,” Hannibal said, “but it so happens that I made a little extra. That one is just for us.” He tilted his head to indicate the fourth layer on the side counter, as he carefully placed a bell jar dome over his meticulous work. 

The last layer he placed on a much more modest serving platter, and after applying the first simple coating of icing, added only a few flourishes with the piping bag and a petal tip before he started in on the clean-up. The finished product looked so temptingly fluffy and satiny; Will wanted to destroy it immediately by putting it into his mouth. “Can I have some now?” he asked. “Or will that spoil my supper?” 

Leaving a few things still in the sink, Hannibal sauntered over to Will, moving behind him to settle his arms on Will’s shoulders, whispering into his ear, “Actually, this was a lot of work, and I thought as a reward I might avail myself of your…charms.” 

Will reached up to hold Hannibal’s slender wrists. He said coolly, “Yeah? Who told you that my charms were available right now?” 

Disregarding this, Hannibal buried his face in Will’s neck and tried to tempt him with a few warm kisses. 

“Okay, come on, I’m serious,” Will said, shrugging against Hannibal’s grip. “I’m not in the mood. I’ve been hauling boxes all day and I’m tired.” 

“I’ll do all the work.” 

“But I stink. And I thought I might get back to work pretty soon…except I forgot we have to go to that stupid party…” 

“So take a shower. You’ll have to anyway.” 

“I just want to relax for a while.” 

Hannibal finally lifted away from Will, straightened up and regained his composure. He said, “How about a little wager?” 

“What kind of wager?” 

Hannibal picked up the pack of cards from the counter. He opened the box, letting the cards slide into his open palm. With deft precision, he applied just enough pressure to make them all flutter evenly into his other hand; it made a sharp, satisfying sound. “I will perform a card trick. If you are unable to discern how the trick is performed, then you must agree to a little…I believe you once called it ‘maintenance sex.’” 

“You _do_ remember that when I was explaining maintenance sex to you, it was about how it was impossible to have it with you? I’d be up for a quickie if that could ever happen, but you are physically incapable of compliant, unspectacular sex. I’m still surprised that you don’t bring in a sixteen-piece orchestra for a handjob.” 

“I promise, only a string quartet if I win the bet.” 

“And what if _I_ win?” Will had spent many years, including all his years as a cop, in New Orleans. He’d seen every type of confidence game, grift, trick, and rip-off, from the top to the bottom, including those that relied on sleight-of-hand. He had no doubt he could identify how a simple card trick was performed. “If I figure out your trick, what’s in it for me?” 

Hannibal pondered this for a moment. He had obviously not considered, until it was mentioned, that Will might indeed win. Finally, he held up the cards and said, “I’ll take you to the Virgin Islands.” 

“Will you pester me for sex there, too?” 

“No more than three times a day, you have my word,” Hannibal deadpanned. 

“Alright, you’re on.” Will leaned forward, resting his arms on the counter, attentive. “So what’s the trick? Show me.” 

Will easily spotted every technique Hannibal employed: first, a false cut, splitting the deck into three parts, making it look like the cards were being randomly mixed when they actually remained in the same order. Then, Hannibal offered the deck to him, inviting him to pick a card. He did so; it was the three of clubs. Hannibal invited him to replace the card, and as Will did so he watched for a pinky break, which would allow Hannibal to keep track of where the card had disappeared into the deck. 

Hannibal shuffled the deck several times – real shuffling, so far as Will could tell – and then tapped the top card of the deck twice. “Was _this_ your card?” he said, as he flipped it over with a flourish. It was the ten of diamonds. 

“No,” Will said, making no effort to suppress his laughter. 

Hannibal was baffled. He revealed another card, the six of spades. “Is _this_ your card?” 

“Not even close.” 

“You’re absolutely certain?” 

“Absolutely.” 

“This has never happened to me before.” 

“That’s what they all say,” Will retorted. He suspected that this was part of the trick; Hannibal was probably going to pull the card out of his shirt pocket or something. But no reveal was forthcoming. “Then I have no choice but to concede,” Hannibal said. “My understanding is that the best time of year to go to the Virgin Islands is April to June. But if you don’t want to wait…” 

“April’s fine,” Will said dryly. 

Hannibal shuffled back around the counter, dejected, and took a plate down from the cupboard. Silent and crestfallen, he cut an enormous slice from the single-layer cake for Will, and plated it. 

Will found this all amusing, but also strangely endearing. He tilted his head to one side and chuckled. “You know, I don’t know what it is, but seeing you all pitiful like this actually makes me think I’ve changed my mind. Maybe we could go upstairs and fool around a little bit. _A little bit_ , alright?” 

“Shall we take the cake with us?” 

Will shrugged. “Why not; I can multi-task.” 

Hannibal followed Will up the stairs and into the bedroom, where he set the plate on the bedside table. Looking over at it, Will could already see that, away from the air-conditioning, the delicate buttercream icing was beginning to look a little melty. Will protested when Hannibal ordered him to undress, “But I'm still filthy. Can I have a shower first?” 

“Don't worry about that,” Hannibal said. “I'll likely need to change the sheets anyway, if any icing goes astray.” 

Not sure whether to find that comment insulting, Will kicked off his shoes, then whipped off his shirt and jeans. When he was naked, he put one knee on the bed, gestured to the cake, and said, “So, you gonna eat that off my ass, or what?” 

Hannibal smiled fondly at Will's forthright crudeness, and replied, “I'd prefer that you lie on your back.” He took up the plate, and once Will got himself situated, he straddled Will's knees, digging the fork under the cake to lift it. 

“Oh, this is one of those things where I'm naked and you're fully clothed, huh?” Will stretched his arms above his head, like he was settling in for a boring time. “Ho-hum, third time this month.” 

“Don't tempt me into indulging in one of my more _exotic_ habits,” Hannibal warned. His tone shut Will up, but he still smirked, because he wasn't actually worried. _That_ would never happen. 

A drop of melted icing hit Will's belly first, as it fell from the cake. Hannibal took his time, watching that flesh quiver in anticipation, before dropping the slice. The tines of the fork caressed Will's skin as Hannibal slid it out from underneath. He set the plate aside, not taking his eyes off the icing as it slowly sagged and trickled down the sides of the cake. 

Will was still unimpressed, until Hannibal leaned forward and ran his tongue all along the edges of the cake, picking up just the icing that had gone astray. He let a few wet noises of suction escape as he cleaned up, gratuitously kissing the flesh he encountered. Now that his dick was getting hard, Will was less inclined to snark about the situation. 

But Hannibal kept his tongue strictly in the vicinity of the cake, and once the stray icing had been seen to, he sat up straight again. Fork in hand, he went to cut a mouthful from one corner. But things were amiss; something kept the fork from slicing cleanly through the cake. With an inquisitive grunt, Hannibal set the fork on the discarded plate, and leaned down again to lick away at the icing on top, exhaling hot breath on Will's skin all the while. By doing this, he revealed something beneath the icing sufficiently to pinch it between two fingers by one corner and slide it free. 

Hannibal lifted the object up and licked away the remaining icing that obscured it: he turned it over to reveal to a wide-eyed Will that it was the three of clubs. 

“Is _this_ your card?” he asked.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on a set of prompts I got from my followers on Tumblr as part of a fic-fest. I mixed up all the prompts and wrote the results. The prompts for this fic were as follows [SPOILERS BELOW]:
> 
> orcinusdorka: It all starts with a cake and a black toy car.  
> [person who wished to remain anonymous]: There’s a great deal of secrecy.  
> orcinusdorka: And then suddenly the pink sugar melts, revealing the last card of the deck.  
>  [And then they have sex.]  
> schnattergans: But the important thing is that the story is very fluffy.


End file.
